


but the sunshine never comes

by Nokomis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, post 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8549857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Oswald offers Ed a shoulder to cry on, as promised.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on my [tumblr](http://nokomiss.tumblr.com/) by the lovely Rainpuddle13, "Oswald/Ed: One character playing with the other's hair." Takes place post-3x08.

Ed was losing it.

 

Oswald was, quite frankly, fascinated. He’d seen Ed in the grip of homicidal glory before, all alight and glowing with joy, and he’d seen him stressed out and worried, but this… this was a completely different Ed. He was babbling, an endless fount of words streaming out of him, and his hands kept raking through his hair, over and over, until his neat, professional hairstyle was destroyed.

 

It was, actually, quite a look on Ed. Quite rakish, though Oswald thought he ought to keep his opinion to himself. Ed probably didn’t even realize he no longer looked put-together, and that would just add more stress.

 

“But she should have returned by now!” Ed concluded, dropping heavily onto the couch next to Oswald.

 

“It is mysterious,” Oswald said reassuringly, patting Ed’s knee. “She did seem a bit flaky, that Isabella.”

 

“Flaky?” Ed’s eyes were alight. “Oswald, you know she is the opposite of flaky. Something must have happened.”

 

“She used you, my dearest friend,” Oswald said. “And now she’s gone.”

 

And the sooner forgotten, the better. 

 

Ed sighed and leaned back against the couch. His eyes were trained on the ceiling, so he didn’t notice how Oswald’s were trained on him. “I just… Things were going good. Finally, something good had happened.”

 

“I didn’t realize your life here was so unbearable,” Oswald says before he can stop himself. 

 

Ed turned to look at him. A lock of hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and Oswald had to clench his fists at his side to keep from reaching out and touching it. “Oswald, I didn’t mean… I’m grateful for everything you’ve given me. I’m grateful for _you_. I just never thought I would have Miss Kringle back.”

 

“But you didn’t,” Oswald said. He’d meant to be gentler than this, to ease Ed in, to pull him close and let him vent and cry and rage against Oswald until he realized that Oswald was the rock he needed, not Isabella. But here they were. “You had Isabella, who you pushed away because you thought you would murder her, and who you only reconciled with when she dressed up as your dead lover.”

 

Ed flinched; the facts laid bare painted an ugly picture indeed. “Oswald--”

 

“But that was not your fault, my dear friend, nor does it reflect badly on you.” Oswald had to reel him back in before self-pity set in. “As I said. She used you.”

 

Ed raked his hands through his hair again, looking pained. “But… What should I do?”

 

“Moving on is going to be difficult, I know,” Oswald said, gently. “But it’s what must be done.”

 

He smiled, hopefully reassuringly, though it was fueled by the memory of Gabe holding the pliers. 

 

Ed simply looked at him with something akin to despair. Oswald thought of something his mother had once told him, to never give his heart to someone who took love lightly, and knew that she would approve of Ed.

 

He’d reached out and smoothed one of the more erratic flyaways before he realized he’d chosen to touch Ed. Ed just sighed and let him, his look of despair fading to a more general melancholy.

 

Ed’s hair was softer than it looked; Oswald had assumed, somehow, that it would have a similar heavy, oily texture to his own, given how Ed kept it restrained with such vigor. But the strands were fine as silk and Oswald thought that he could keep running his hands through Ed’s hair forever, if only Ed would let him.

 

“I think,” Ed says quietly, leaning his head into Oswald’s palm, pressing against him and tilting his head until Oswald is cupping his cheek, “sometimes, that I made a mistake, when I took to Isabella. Things were simpler, before.”

 

When it had just been the two of them, and the glory of being both the king of Gotham’s underground had been multiplied by his election as mayor and declaring Ed his Chief of Staff. When Oswald had fallen in love with his dearest friend, the only friend left to him, given Butch’s treachery and Jim’s refusal to accept his own nature. 

 

But Oswald would be doing Ed a disservice if he swept his love away, as if it didn’t matter. Because when Ed chose to love Oswald, he didn’t want it to be a temporary thing that could be swept away with a few angry words. “Love is never simple,” he said. The words hurt him, but he lived with pain with every aching step. For Ed, he could do this. “I am truly sorry that yours went awry, Ed, I truly am.”

 

Ed’s cheek was warm under his palm, and Oswald traced his fingertips across Ed’s cheekbones, simply because he could, before pulling away. 

 

“I hope,” he began, his voice betraying his emotion. He took a deep breath, then started again. “I hope that your next venture into the realm of the heart is more successful.”

 

When he’d plotting this moment, gleeful and vengeful, he hadn’t anticipated that his own heart might make him vulnerable. He’d thought he would be here, bold as the king he was, ready to conquer.

 

But instead he felt like little Oswald Cobblepot, the awkward strange boy who sought his mother’s solace. 

 

Ed took a deep breath, and said slowly, deliberately, “I thank you for your candor, Mr. Penguin. I agree. This ending was quite unsatisfactory, and I would not want to experience this again.”

 

The formal words were at odds with Ed’s absolutely wrecked appearance, from his bedraggled hair to his desperate expression. It seemed like he was pleading, somehow, for Oswald to reassure him. 

 

Ed’s hair reminded him, suddenly, of the way Ed had looked in Arkham, uncaring and downtrodden, and this time Oswald reached over to smooth it, to try to tame it somewhat. Ed’s expression went from pleading to closed off as he moved, and when Oswald leaned back, it seemed like some of Ed’s sharp control had snapped back into place. 

 

“You won’t,” he found himself saying, answering Ed’s spoken request but shying away from the unspoken one. “You won’t experience this feeling again.”

 

Oswald would never leave Ed like this. But--- he’d only just had Isabella killed. He would be Ed’s shoulder to cry on, but he wouldn’t make his move while Ed was still vulnerable. Oswald was many things, but he was at heart his mother’s boy, and she would not have approved of such a thing. _Wait til his heart is ready_ , he could practically hear her say. 

 

And he would. He wouldn’t make a move until it was about Ed’s feelings for Oswald, not Ed’s despair over Isabella. Because Oswald was playing the long game, and he had no intentions of ruining his plans by being overly hasty.


End file.
